Wednesday, September 13, 2006

War

the human spirit
lives, nomatter which fence side
it finds itself on

2 comments:

  1. Anonymous5:24 pm

    Hi,

    You said it well.

    I remember this war poem by Thomas Hardy from when I was in junior high:

    The Man He Killed

    Had he and I but met
    By some old ancient inn,
    We should have set us down to wet
    Right many a nipperkin!


    But ranged as infantry,
    And staring face to face,
    I shot at him as he at me,
    And killed him in his place.


    I shot him dead because--
    Because he was my foe,
    Just so: my foe of course he was;
    That's clear enough; although


    He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
    Off-hand like--just as I--
    Was out of work--had sold his traps--
    No other reason why.


    Yes; quaint and curious war is!
    You shoot a fellow down
    You'd treat, if met where any bar is,
    Or help to half a crown.


    Thomas Hardy


    I always found this poem rueful, and it makes me feel a kinship with the English.

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  2. Thanks Carol,

    I sort of remember that poem, it's very true. Yeah, we're all human. Calling us by another name doesn't change that.

    Helm.

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